Name: Fera Jaka Age: 34 Gender: Female Occupation: Farm Worker Social Class: Peasant Financial situation: Poor Appearance:Pail white skin, Greenish brown eyes, Dirty Brown hair, Raggedy cloths with checker pattern, Black shoes with velcro, topless hat, very skinny, 167 cm tall with huntched back. Daily routine: Pick the apples at the break of dawn, when the sun is at its highest i start the cooking as my brother works the land, when the sun begins to set we scatter the seeds, then i cook once more and if i finish the cleaning early i go into town and watch the royalty walk by dreaming of what my life would be like in there shoes. I do everything while taking care of my newborn. Personality/Quirks/Unique Personality Traits: Hard Working, Child Loving, Animal Loving, Love Window Shopping, Day Dreamer Past/individual-family history: Father used to work this land, I have one newborn child, brother is all i have left after the killing of my Mother and Father Family: Father and Mother killed when I was 12, they had been in deat with the lord of the manor for years and couldn't pay the taxes. The manor lord had always come over to our stay threatening us so we would pay the land taxes. In doing this he would always hit my mother when she said no until my father stood up to him and hit him back. A few days after he came back again with two men with guns. while hiding under the table in the kitchen i witness them being murdered leaving my brother all that I have left. Social Relations: I have no friends except my thoughts, as i can't speak and no one cares for my existence. Religion: Catholic Education: I taught my self when watching my parents work the fields. Style of speaking in France: Mumbling Languages you speak: Can't Speak
Main privileges and/or conflicts: Land lord keeps raising the rent. Diary # I: Before the Storm: "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where’s my tax money...... I don't have the money." Bang, Bang! AAAA. Breathing deeply, sweating even in the cold, dreaming of my parents. Not one night goes by without seeing the fateful death of their precious lives. Why must land owners be so radical for just the smallest amount of money?It’s not like they need more than they already have.Just thinking about what they did makes my day worse than it already is.Every day is like the day before-waking up, smelling the sweet smell of the manor house cooking and feeding the baby as it wakes up by the barking of the dogs working the sheep.My brother is long gone already working the fields.Once dressed in my dirty clothes from yesterday, I grab my basket and hit the fields hoping to find some ripe apples to pick.With half a basket full, I head back home, looking as the sun rises which makes my day, even if my life is one that no other lives.Bread is all we can afford for now, as the land owner is raising taxes again because of all the fuss the other peasants have started.While my brother finishes up on the land raking, I start on the food baking.Our oven isn’t the best that has ever been made, but it has been in our family for years and has never let us down before.It’s made from the clay we dug up from the ground with our parents, has a little hole where we slide in the bread, and it’s powered by the cow’s droppings which I collect to start the fire.After eating with my brother and feeding the baby with by breast milk, we hit the fields once more.This time to go and plant the new season seeds I leave my baby behind in its crib.The temperature is slowly falling back to nail biting cold.Finishing with our work early I have some free time to go down town and have a look at the newest fashion.To my surprise there had been no so many people on the streets as in the past two weeks.This revolution has truly brought more trouble onto us peasants than we have had before and I hope it ends so with no trouble at all.Well after window shopping for a few minutes I set off on my long walk home.The ground in the city is filled with mud and smells like the back side of a pig, but its normal for it to smell. Two minutes from my house I notice smoke coming from the distance, right behind the manor house.I start running hopping to find nothing wrong, but my house was on fire along with my crops.My baby I yelled in panic but as I moved closer and closer with my speed I saw my brother lying on the ground holding my only child.The baby was fine, but my brother had been badly hurt by some sort of blunt sided weapon.Weeping in pain I asked him who did this and all that came from his mouth from his last few breaths was, “Land Owner.”
Diary #2: The Moderate Stage
That night I slept on the streets, holding my baby in my arms leaning against was left of my burned up house. In the morning as the flames ate themselves up, I tried to retrieve any valuables that hadn't been scorched in the flames. All the money that we had owned was next to the fire place in a small metal case that was given to me from my dad years back. In it I found nothing but a piece of cloth. This certain piece of cloth was part of the land owners daily uniform telling me that he had taken all that we owned and more. All that I found left in all the ruble was some jewelry from my mom and my grandfather’s rapier. Picking up these materials I set off to visit my old trades man Pierre Gavelle. Pierre was a man who didn't like to pay lots of money for house hold objects making him very stingy. Once getting to his shop I offered him my two belongings and asked for a well disserved price. He had been in a good mood that day and offered me a complimentary price of 4 livres. This was a good price for it would be enough money to last me for a few days until I found a new job. With the money I had earned from the market I set off to find some justice for the murder of my brother, Elvis Jaka. Walking into town I had run into a crowd of people who were heading toward a great meeting which would offer change in our hateful country. As I walked on wards they turned around and where heading towards the tennis courts of a great building. Joining the group of five hundred to six hundred 3rd estate workers seeking revenge I just happened to bump into a fine looking man, Brown eyes and brown hair, with a medium build body and a rather stubby brown beard. While holding my baby looked at me with the most grateful smile and said, "Hi, what’s your name." From out of no where for the first time in twenty two years I spoke,”My names Fera Jaka, what’s yours?" He replied with his charming eyes and said, "I'm Jean Pierre, So what brings here with all these people." With my sad looking face I told him about my whole life of my treacherous land lord who just had killed my innocent brother with no punishment at all and I was seeking revenge for his murder. Trying to cheer me up with a talk of change through a rebellion he told me that what my hatred for was in fact hatred of the government.My whole life would change flew through my head while we talked and talked about the government and how it SUCKS.Days later as we organized this assembly of people we set off to engage on a convoy that had been transporting food.We all had been starving because the tax collectors had taken all our money including the 4 livres that I got from the merchant.Within all this rebellion I had the chance of burning down my old land lords house and personally teaching him a lesson about respect and honor.In revenge I had casted him in a coffin and buried him as deep as my shovel went.After giving him pain, which I had been having for years, me and my group searched the house for the land records and took over the land which was rightfully ours.The next few days will be tough but as my father said, “No one can win unless someone has fallen."
Diary #3-The Reign of Terror
Comfort ness was the only word that described what I was feeling at that moment in the morning.With the fall of the land lord, my new friends and I owned the house allowing me to sleep in the most comfortable bed of all time.It was covered with sheets made from the softest cloth in the country.When you drop yourself on its once of a kind mat, you sink into the covers, caving in on yourself felling nothing but the sweet touch of love.With no one around me, forcing me, pushing me and taxing me I was at peace with my child.This is what a mother should feel like when she has to take care of a baby all by herself.Loved, comforted and wanted.The time did seem endless except there had been a strange sound coming up the stairs as I slowly but gently raised my body to a sitting stance.Suddenly the door flung open and an armored man crabbed be and dragged me from the bed that would have kept me dreaming forever.Outside everyone was lined up and being chained to one another with no idea what was going on.The guards had been told that within this manor there had been royalty living who were against the new way of life in France.Yes we all looked as royals as we treated ourselves to a nice bath and fresh cloths that were stored in the greatest closet ever build.Being man handle towards the prison where many had been lined up I saw Pierre Gavelle, the tradesman that I sold my old sword and necklace too.Crying out to him so he would at least tell the men that I wasn’t royalty but merely a peasant farmer with nothing left in life except my thoughts.Having taken one glace at me Pierre looked away as he didn’t want anything to do with what was going on at the time.Being told our charges and what the penalty for our crimes my heart had stopped a beat.This charge wasn’t something that had been used in the past with the king at the thrown, but it had been one that made an example for the others that had been against the reformation.We where to be strapped to the ends of cannons by the next sunset.As the hammer in the judges hand swung down, I couldn’t think of anything but how my life would end.Sitting in a cell that had been over filled with people I couldn’t talk once again all that had been running through my mind that awful night was that the pain that would be inflicted on me in the morning wouldn’t hurt anymore than what I have gone through just a Fara Jaka.Something wasn’t right I kept saying to myself, something wasn’t just right.What gives the governing group right to convict us with treason to France and its new government?As the night went on I hated my own people more than I had hated my torturous land lord.Before the sun began to set we had all been given a meal, it was a brew of potato peelings and onions and it had been the only meal that I had ever had to me close to something co sure.The time had come and as we walked to the cannons awaiting our worthless lives I saw one last familiar face, Jean Pierre, and as I look into his eyes and he did too he cried out my name.the guard who had been standing next to me at the time looked at him and asked him if he knew me.With a combination of words I was set free from the chains that kept me away from the life I could have had.From that day forth I never let anyone else push me around with out a fight.Finally I was FREE!!!!
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Occupation: Farm Worker
Social Class: Peasant
Financial situation: Poor
Appearance:Pail white skin, Greenish brown eyes, Dirty Brown hair, Raggedy cloths with checker pattern, Black shoes with velcro, topless hat, very skinny, 167 cm tall with huntched back.
Daily routine: Pick the apples at the break of dawn, when the sun is at its highest i start the cooking as my brother works the land, when the sun begins to set we scatter the seeds, then i cook once more and if i finish the cleaning early i go into town and watch the royalty walk by dreaming of what my life would be like in there shoes. I do everything while taking care of my newborn.
Personality/Quirks/Unique Personality Traits: Hard Working, Child Loving, Animal Loving, Love Window Shopping, Day Dreamer
Past/individual-family history: Father used to work this land, I have one newborn child, brother is all i have left after the killing of my Mother and Father
Family: Father and Mother killed when I was 12, they had been in deat with the lord of the manor for years and couldn't pay the taxes. The manor lord had always come over to our stay threatening us so we would pay the land taxes. In doing this he would always hit my mother when she said no until my father stood up to him and hit him back. A few days after he came back again with two men with guns. while hiding under the table in the kitchen i witness them being murdered leaving my brother all that I have left.
Social Relations: I have no friends except my thoughts, as i can't speak and no one cares for my existence.
Religion: Catholic
Education: I taught my self when watching my parents work the fields.
Style of speaking in France: Mumbling
Languages you speak: Can't Speak
Main privileges and/or conflicts: Land lord keeps raising the rent.
Diary # I: Before the Storm:
"I'm going to ask you one more time. Where’s my tax money...... I don't have the money." Bang, Bang! AAAA. Breathing deeply, sweating even in the cold, dreaming of my parents. Not one night goes by without seeing the fateful death of their precious lives. Why must land owners be so radical for just the smallest amount of money? It’s not like they need more than they already have. Just thinking about what they did makes my day worse than it already is. Every day is like the day before-waking up, smelling the sweet smell of the manor house cooking and feeding the baby as it wakes up by the barking of the dogs working the sheep. My brother is long gone already working the fields. Once dressed in my dirty clothes from yesterday, I grab my basket and hit the fields hoping to find some ripe apples to pick. With half a basket full, I head back home, looking as the sun rises which makes my day, even if my life is one that no other lives. Bread is all we can afford for now, as the land owner is raising taxes again because of all the fuss the other peasants have started. While my brother finishes up on the land raking, I start on the food baking. Our oven isn’t the best that has ever been made, but it has been in our family for years and has never let us down before. It’s made from the clay we dug up from the ground with our parents, has a little hole where we slide in the bread, and it’s powered by the cow’s droppings which I collect to start the fire. After eating with my brother and feeding the baby with by breast milk, we hit the fields once more. This time to go and plant the new season seeds I leave my baby behind in its crib. The temperature is slowly falling back to nail biting cold. Finishing with our work early I have some free time to go down town and have a look at the newest fashion. To my surprise there had been no so many people on the streets as in the past two weeks. This revolution has truly brought more trouble onto us peasants than we have had before and I hope it ends so with no trouble at all. Well after window shopping for a few minutes I set off on my long walk home. The ground in the city is filled with mud and smells like the back side of a pig, but its normal for it to smell. Two minutes from my house I notice smoke coming from the distance, right behind the manor house. I start running hopping to find nothing wrong, but my house was on fire along with my crops. My baby I yelled in panic but as I moved closer and closer with my speed I saw my brother lying on the ground holding my only child. The baby was fine, but my brother had been badly hurt by some sort of blunt sided weapon. Weeping in pain I asked him who did this and all that came from his mouth from his last few breaths was, “Land Owner.”
Diary #2: The Moderate Stage
That night I slept on the streets, holding my baby in my arms leaning against was left of my burned up house. In the morning as the flames ate themselves up, I tried to retrieve any valuables that hadn't been scorched in the flames. All the money that we had owned was next to the fire place in a small metal case that was given to me from my dad years back. In it I found nothing but a piece of cloth. This certain piece of cloth was part of the land owners daily uniform telling me that he had taken all that we owned and more. All that I found left in all the ruble was some jewelry from my mom and my grandfather’s rapier. Picking up these materials I set off to visit my old trades man Pierre Gavelle. Pierre was a man who didn't like to pay lots of money for house hold objects making him very stingy. Once getting to his shop I offered him my two belongings and asked for a well disserved price. He had been in a good mood that day and offered me a complimentary price of 4 livres. This was a good price for it would be enough money to last me for a few days until I found a new job. With the money I had earned from the market I set off to find some justice for the murder of my brother, Elvis Jaka. Walking into town I had run into a crowd of people who were heading toward a great meeting which would offer change in our hateful country. As I walked on wards they turned around and where heading towards the tennis courts of a great building. Joining the group of five hundred to six hundred 3rd estate workers seeking revenge I just happened to bump into a fine looking man, Brown eyes and brown hair, with a medium build body and a rather stubby brown beard. While holding my baby looked at me with the most grateful smile and said, "Hi, what’s your name." From out of no where for the first time in twenty two years I spoke,”My names Fera Jaka, what’s yours?" He replied with his charming eyes and said, "I'm Jean Pierre, So what brings here with all these people." With my sad looking face I told him about my whole life of my treacherous land lord who just had killed my innocent brother with no punishment at all and I was seeking revenge for his murder. Trying to cheer me up with a talk of change through a rebellion he told me that what my hatred for was in fact hatred of the government. My whole life would change flew through my head while we talked and talked about the government and how it SUCKS. Days later as we organized this assembly of people we set off to engage on a convoy that had been transporting food. We all had been starving because the tax collectors had taken all our money including the 4 livres that I got from the merchant. Within all this rebellion I had the chance of burning down my old land lords house and personally teaching him a lesson about respect and honor. In revenge I had casted him in a coffin and buried him as deep as my shovel went. After giving him pain, which I had been having for years, me and my group searched the house for the land records and took over the land which was rightfully ours. The next few days will be tough but as my father said, “No one can win unless someone has fallen."
Diary #3-The Reign of Terror
Comfort ness was the only word that described what I was feeling at that moment in the morning. With the fall of the land lord, my new friends and I owned the house allowing me to sleep in the most comfortable bed of all time. It was covered with sheets made from the softest cloth in the country. When you drop yourself on its once of a kind mat, you sink into the covers, caving in on yourself felling nothing but the sweet touch of love. With no one around me, forcing me, pushing me and taxing me I was at peace with my child. This is what a mother should feel like when she has to take care of a baby all by herself. Loved, comforted and wanted. The time did seem endless except there had been a strange sound coming up the stairs as I slowly but gently raised my body to a sitting stance. Suddenly the door flung open and an armored man crabbed be and dragged me from the bed that would have kept me dreaming forever. Outside everyone was lined up and being chained to one another with no idea what was going on. The guards had been told that within this manor there had been royalty living who were against the new way of life in France. Yes we all looked as royals as we treated ourselves to a nice bath and fresh cloths that were stored in the greatest closet ever build. Being man handle towards the prison where many had been lined up I saw Pierre Gavelle, the tradesman that I sold my old sword and necklace too. Crying out to him so he would at least tell the men that I wasn’t royalty but merely a peasant farmer with nothing left in life except my thoughts. Having taken one glace at me Pierre looked away as he didn’t want anything to do with what was going on at the time. Being told our charges and what the penalty for our crimes my heart had stopped a beat. This charge wasn’t something that had been used in the past with the king at the thrown, but it had been one that made an example for the others that had been against the reformation. We where to be strapped to the ends of cannons by the next sunset. As the hammer in the judges hand swung down, I couldn’t think of anything but how my life would end. Sitting in a cell that had been over filled with people I couldn’t talk once again all that had been running through my mind that awful night was that the pain that would be inflicted on me in the morning wouldn’t hurt anymore than what I have gone through just a Fara Jaka. Something wasn’t right I kept saying to myself, something wasn’t just right. What gives the governing group right to convict us with treason to France and its new government? As the night went on I hated my own people more than I had hated my torturous land lord. Before the sun began to set we had all been given a meal, it was a brew of potato peelings and onions and it had been the only meal that I had ever had to me close to something co sure. The time had come and as we walked to the cannons awaiting our worthless lives I saw one last familiar face, Jean Pierre, and as I look into his eyes and he did too he cried out my name. the guard who had been standing next to me at the time looked at him and asked him if he knew me. With a combination of words I was set free from the chains that kept me away from the life I could have had. From that day forth I never let anyone else push me around with out a fight. Finally I was FREE!!!!